


One Cocaine, Please

by firstnameagent



Series: The Fake AH Crew (& all their demons) [1]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Drug Addiction, Drugs, Fake AH Crew, GTA, M/M, Mentions of Sex, Suicide mention, for chapter 2, lots and lots of drugs, lowkey angst, okay now it's highkey angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-09
Updated: 2015-07-10
Packaged: 2018-04-08 10:27:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4301217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firstnameagent/pseuds/firstnameagent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I want to do drugs,” is how Gavin breaches the topic, hands shoved in his pockets, mouth set and looking at Ray. He’s been pacing around the Crew’s penthouse for about fifteen minutes now, just out of Ray’s line of sight, working up the nerve and the right words to ask what’s been on his mind.</p><p>And that’s what he came up with.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Safehouse

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! I'm on tumblr at firstnameagent as well. 
> 
> Based off an ask I sent in to anarchetypal that got out of hand and now this is 1700 of dumb boys doing drugs. Oops.

“I want to do drugs,” is how Gavin breaches the topic, hands shoved in his pockets, mouth set and looking at Ray. He’s been pacing around the Crew’s penthouse for about fifteen minutes now, just out of Ray’s line of sight, working up the nerve and the right words to ask what’s been on his mind.

And that’s what he came up with.

Ray puts down his xbox controller and raises an eyebrow. “Okay?” he says. “Like, do you want me to talk you out of it, or…?”

“No,” Gavin snaps, bring his hands out of his pockets to fold his arms across his chest. “No, I mean, you’ve got all kinds of stuff, don’t you? I just wanna, you know, see what it’s like and all that.”

“Oh,” Ray smirks. “You want to ‘do drugs’ _with me_.”

“Well you’ve _got_ them,” Gavin says again, face growing hot.

“No, I get it, man,” Ray shrugs. “No homo.” 

Gavin wasn’t aware that shooting up is an activity that’s usually considered homo, but he nods along anyway as Ray pulls out his cell phone. He sends a text to an anonymous number first—filled with shorthand and symbols that Gavin didn’t know he didn’t know—and then places a call to Geoff.

“Hey, Geoff. Gav and I are going to be kinda indisposed the rest of the week. You don’t have any heists or anything planned, yeah? Okay. Okay. Yeah, got it. Later.”

He hangs up and jumps off the couch, leaving his video game completely abandoned halfway through. “Alright,” he says, grabbing Gavin by the sleeve of his hoodie. “C’mon. Let’s go do some fuckin’ drugs.”

-

Ray manages to keep his curiosity bottled up as they swing by Ray’s dealer (“Just reloading the stock for later”) and pull up to one of the many safe houses they’ve got sprinkled around the city. He doesn’t ask all the way into the kitchen, as he crawls up onto the counter and plucks a jar off the top of the cabinets. It’s only right before he dumps its contents out onto the counter in front of a jittery Gavin that he stops and tilts his head.

“So, what’s this all about, anyway?” he asks. “Trying to drown your sorrows or something? Because I’m fine with that, really, I don’t care, I just want to know what I’m helping you get yourself into.”

“It’s not like that,” Gavin insists. “I just… want to know what it’s like, that’s all. Curious.”

“Hmm,” Ray says, but nothing else, and finally tips the contents of the vase out. Little bags of various powders and pills spill out—an impressive, if not very organized, collection. “Okay. What are you gonna be curious about first? Coke, heroin, LSD, weed if you’re a pussy, ecstasy—”

“Coke,” Gavin says hastily. He’s heard good things about coke. Makes you feel on top of the world. Like you can do anything, any time. Surrounded by the crew he usually feels like that anyway, so—that sounds like a safe place to start.

“One cocaine, coming right up,” Ray smirks. He plucks a baggie out of the pile and a razor out of one of his cabinets and starts drawing lines right there, right then. 

-

Coming down from a coke high is a lot less fun that building up to one; his hands start to shake and sweat, his nerves tense. But the energy still flows liquid through his veins, and it’s basically everything he hoped it would be—reckless abandon, dangerous yet somehow still safe, behind closed doors and locked windows and with Ray at his side.

Ray looks barely even shaken up, and he’d gotten so bored halfway through Gavin’s high that he’d done a second line. Gavin wonders briefly how often Ray does this. He wonders even more briefly whether it has anything to do with what Ray said earlier about drowning his sorrows. 

“How’d you like that,” Ray asks. Gavin can’t stop tapping his fingers on the counter—tip tap tip tap tip tap.

“Top,” he says, and then bursts out laughing at the pun Ray didn’t even hear. Ray laughs anyway, patting him on the shoulder.

“Fuckin’ lightweight,” he says. “Anyway. You wanna take a break and keep going with this in a bit? You look like you need some water.”

“Aw, you’re sweet,” Gavin says. “Pumping me full of drugs and still trying to take care of me.”

Ray rolls his eyes as he shoves a glass of water at Gavin. “Drink this,” he insists. “And then you can have more.”

-

They spend the next few days riding one high straight into another. Ray keeps the dangerous cocktails as far apart as he can, or at least that’s what he assures Gavin. The hallucinogens are Gavin’s favorite; colors turning into sounds and back again, a trip inside his own brain to places he’d never thought to look. Ray seems to prefer the depressants. He insists he doesn’t do _that much_ heroin, but—his eyes kind of light up when he lets himself have a taste of it. 

“I’m a bit worried about you, Ray,” Gavin admits, babbling his way through the end effects of some drug he doesn’t even remember the name of.

“Nah,” Ray sighs, leaning back on his couch. He closes his eyes and lets a small smile take over his face. 

“You’re gonna die of a bloody overdose one of these days,” Gavin continues, words going directly from brain to mouth, no filter in between.

He looks over at Ray this time, waits for him to say _nah_ again. But he doesn’t. 

His eyes are still closed, but the smile’s gone. 

-

It does, inevitably, end up becoming kind of homo.

You don’t spend three or four straight days in an apartment with another guy out of your fucking minds on drugs without thinking about banging him. That’s kind of a given. 

They’re both high, which totally means it doesn’t really count, but they’re both in their minds enough to know that they’re not doing anything they haven’t wanted to do before. It’s just that before they weren’t sitting on the cool tile in the kitchen floor, faces burning with side effects, leaned up against one another almost sleeping. 

“You’re hot,” Gavin mumbles.

“Yeah, you too,” Ray laughs, nudging him. Gavin buries his head deeper into Ray’s shoulder.

“You coulda invited other people,” he says. “Wasn’t asking for an exclusive all expenses paid trip, you know. Coulda just gone over to Michael’s or something.”

Ray shrugs. “Yeah, I know.”

Gavin frowns, eyes closing. “So how come you did all this instead?”

“Was kind of hoping you’d suck my dick at some point, honestly.”

Gavin opens his eyes again, much slower. He thinks he can _feel_ the gears in his head.

“’Kay,” he says, and then he’s sliding down further onto the floor, fingers unbuttoning the front of Ray’s jeans.

-

"What's this?" he asks, taking the lit paper from Ray's hand.

"Special recipe," Ray smirks. Gavin puts it to his lips and takes a breath in, waiting for it to hit.

It comes on slowly, pushing at the corners of his consciousness, and then for a brief, magical second, his entire body expands, his head soars and sings--

\--and then it all pops and he's screaming and there's too much light, too much noise, images behind his eyes of his friends dying, of him dying, of him _not_ dying but being ripped apart, piece by piece, from the inside out, of smoke and glass and explosions and _noise_ \--

\--and he comes back into his body with his head in Ray's lap, a little more innocently this time, gasping for breath. Ray's hand is on his forehead and he realizes his head is drenched with sweat. He catches Ray's eyes, putting all his effort into focusing, and Ray lets out a breath.

"Shit," he says. "Okay. We're not doing that one again."

Gavin takes that as his cue to pass out.

-

He wakes up in Ray’s bed, sprawled out and freezing cold. He turns over with a groan to see a glass of water and the two most innocent pills he’s seen in days waiting for him on the bedside table. 

“Morning,” Ray says. He’s cross-legged on the floor in the corner, DS in his lap.

“What time is it?” Gavin groans.

“Five PM.”

Gavin takes a drink of the water and breathes a sigh of relief. Ray stands up and proceeds to shuffle towards him somewhat awkwardly. It takes that guilty look in his eye to remind Gavin what exactly happened.

“The hell was in that?” he asks.

Ray shrugs. “Little of a lot of things,” he admits. “Look, I’m sorry, man. I shouldn’t have—that stuff usually fucks me up, didn’t think about what it would do to you.”

Gavin shakes his head softly. “’S fine.”

Which was a mistake, because Ray cocks an eyebrow and says, “Really? In that case, that was one hell of a bad trip. Like, that’s totally not supposed to happen. You must have some crazy shit locked up in your brain somewhere.”

“Thanks,” Gavin sneers. “Cause the combination heroin-cocaine-marijuana addict really has room to talk.”

Ray bounces on his heels, searching for a comeback. “I’m not addicted to marijuana.”

Gavin laughs again and gulps down another large sip of water. Ray smiles and sits down on the bed next to him.

-

Their week long drug-trip-trip is cut short by about three days after that incident, which neither of them seem to mind. Gavin goes home to properly sleep it off; Ray assures him he’ll be back to the penthouse in a couple of days after cleaning the rest of the house up. 

Gavin thinks it will be weirder, coming back to the rest of them after living in their own little world for a couple of days, but it’s not. It’s fucking annoying, is what it is, listening to the sly comments about whether they enjoyed themselves, and what exactly they were doing all that time, and who was on top. 

“I was,” Ray says casually one day, and Gavin’s face burns bright red as the rest of them shout and laugh and Ray, piece of shit that he is, grins.


	2. The Rooftop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So uhh, I wrote more of this because I'm a sucker for angsty conversations and sad boys.
> 
> TW for suicidal ideation and related concepts.

A week and a half after Gavin’s illicit drugs taste test, he finds himself lying painfully awake in the penthouse at two in the morning. 

It’s not a new feeling or anything—often after heists or even particularly fast petty crimes he’ll be so wired up he can’t fall asleep, a bundle of raw nerves. Usually he just stays up through the night working on whatever the next take is: writing programs, worming his way into security systems. 

What’s new is that this isn’t the night after a heist, and that he has the overwhelming urge to find Ray.

He lays coiled spring-tight in his bed staring at the ceiling for a few more minutes before he gives in (because honestly, impulse control isn’t really his thing). He creeps out of his bedroom and down the hall to Ray’s, but when he opens the door the bed is empty. Which, somehow, doesn’t surprise him in the least. 

He looks around the kitchen, the living room, and the stupid little soundproof room Geoff insisted they build for heist planning. He even peeks into Ryan’s room as cautiously as he can because, come on, everyone’s pretty sure there’s something going on there. But no dice.

Eventually, on a hunch, he goes out into the hallway and climbs the stairs up to the roof access. And there he is, sitting on the edge of the rooftop, cigarette between his fingers. Gavin lets the door up close behind him and Ray barely even reacts; he just glances briefly over his shoulder to see who it is.

Gavin walks up slowly and sits down next to him, trying not to look down at the dizzying drop down onto the pavement below. 

“If you’re looking for more, sorry to disappoint,” Ray says. He holds up the cigarette. “Just tobacco.”

Gavin shakes his head. “No, I was just—” and he trails off, because what’s he supposed to say? _I was just looking for you?_ There’s a difference between “no homo” and “fucking pathetic”. 

“Alright,” Ray scoffs. He puts his cigarette between his teeth and leans back on his palms, kicking his legs over the edge of the building. He looks poised and calm and alert all at once. Gavin wonders if this is what he does pre-heist, when he’s set up on the roof and the rest of them are down on the ground trying to stop arguing long enough to call go. He wonders also, a bit narcissistically, if he’s just doing this to posture for Gavin.

“So,” Gavin says after a long pause, “are we gonna talk about the fact that I sucked your knob?”

Which was definitely not what he intended to say when he came up here, maybe not even what he intended to say when he started that sentence, but it’s been on his mind almost nonstop and there’s only so long he can keep a lid on things like that. Not that he’s been thinking about Ray’s dick constantly for a week or anything but okay, yeah, kind of. 

Ray scoffs and stamps out his spent cigarette. “You’ve seriously gotta stop calling it a _knob_ , man.”

“Cock,” Gavin tries, but Ray laughs again.

“See, even that sounds stupid in your accent.” He looks down at his shoes, dangling over the edge, not looking Gavin in the eye or anywhere else. “Do you _want_ to talk about it?”

Gavin opens his mouth to answer and then realizes he’s not sure what he was about to say. If it’s no, does it sound like he regrets it? Because he doesn’t—really doesn’t, despite all the teasing from the rest of the crew. 

And if it’s yes, does that mean it’s going to happen again? 

“Not if you don’t want to,” he eventually says, and Ray just rolls his eyes.

“Cop-out,” he comments. “But okay.”

So the silence returns. Ray reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a cigarette pack. When he pops the lid Gavin can see a few of the spaces are filled by rolls that are definitely not just tobacco, but Ray pulls out one of the originals and lights it.

“How often do you do that?” Gavin blurts out. “What we did, I mean.”

“What, suck my own dick?” Ray fires back. But he sees Gavin’s slightly exasperated expression and shrugs. “I don’t usually get that high for that long, if that’s what you’re asking. I just, y’know. Whenever I’m in the mood.”

“Seems like you’re in the mood about ninety percent of the time,” Gavin says, and Ray does that laugh-that’s-not-a-laugh thing that somehow cuts into Gavin’s heart. 

“I’m not as much of a wimp as you are, Vav,” Ray says. “It’s not as wild a ride for me.”

Gavin sucks in a deep breath, knowing exactly what Ray’s talking about. Sometimes now he closes his eyes and still feels his head exploding, his body shaking. “I’m worried, that’s all,” he insists, inching a little closer. 

“Worried,” Ray echoes. “Fuck’re you worried about?”

“I don’t know,” he says hastily, trying to swallow the words back down. But Ray looks at him with a look that’s not even curious, it’s just annoyed, and he blurts out, “That you’re gonna pitch yourself off the roof one of these days.”

Which was, apparently, either a very right or very wrong thing to say, because Ray stares out over the city in utter silence. When he does speak, it’s so quiet and slurred that Gavin’s not even sure what he said.

“What?” he asks. 

Ray leans back until he’s lying down, knees crooked over the edge of the rooftop. “I said,” he begins slowly, “what the hell do you think all the drugs are for?”

Which. Oh.

Gavin slowly lowers himself down as well, staring up at where the stars would be if the lights from the city weren’t bright as all hell. “Do you, uh….” He clears his throat. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Fuck nope.”

And he should be content to leave it at that, because no means no and that goes for things that scare the shit out of you, too, but his heart’s in his throat and he wants to say _something._

Ray glances over, and it must be written all over his face, because Ray sighs. “Look,” he says. “Everyone’s got their shit, you know? And we all deal with it. I’m dealing with it.”

Which sounds like an absolute fucking lie. 

But, “Okay,” Gavin says, nodding. And they lie there silently, Ray bringing a cigarette up to his lips every few seconds, Gavin trying not to say every stupid things that comes to his mind.

He lets one stupid thing out, though. “Do you reckon anyone can see us up here?”

Ray takes a long drag and lets it out in an even longer trail of smoke. “What, twenty stories high? Doubt it.”

And his brain shouts _stupid, absolutely stupid_ but his mouth says, “Alright,” and his legs swing over Ray’s body until he’s straddling him and pressing their lips together. 

He tastes like smoke and ash and Gavin feels like it should probably make him gag but it doesn’t—he just breathes it in as long as the kiss goes on and misses it as soon as he pulls away.

“God, you’re fuckin’ predictable,” Ray mutters, but it doesn’t sound like an insult. He wraps his fingers in Gavin’s shirt and pulls him back down, keeping them pressed flat together. The edge of the roof feels dangerously close but neither of them seem to notice, making out in the open air like a couple of teenagers. 

“Also,” Ray breathes, between kisses, “if I was going to kill myself I’d use a gun.”

He says it so fucking casually, but it feels like some horrible secret. But instead of letting it sink in Gavin just digs his fingers into Ray’s shoulders and holds him down, flat on the roof, like he can pin him there forever.


End file.
